


Crimson Red

by Madifishy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Commonwealth, Companions, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Goodneighbor, Guilt, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Minutemen, Old State House, Pain, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madifishy/pseuds/Madifishy
Summary: Hancock and Sole take on a group of gunners, and Sole takes a fatal shot to the stomach because of a mistake Hancock made. Hancock rushes her back to safety to help her, but can he make it in time? Or will her blood be on his hands?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be additional chapters!
> 
> Leave a comment telling me what you thought, and tell me what you'd like to read more of. Thanks for supporting my work, enjoy!

She let out a bloodcurdling cry as a bullet tore through her stomach, a spray of deep red splattering from the wound, and she fell forward against the rusted car, grasping for something to hold onto. She choked out shaky breaths as she stifled screams of pain. Hancock had insisted that the car would be a decent barrier between them and the gunners. Had insisted that they move up to get a better shot. 

She had been reluctant to move up. She had repeated several times that her gun was accurate enough to shoot from far away, and that she was a great shot. But Hancock had begged her to move forward to the cover of the pre-war era rusted car, and finally she had agreed. 

"Sunshine?" Hancock asked, yelling even though he was out of breath. Horror ripped through his body and fear chilled his every nerve. He sank to his knees as bullets continued to race by overhead. "Sunshine?" He asked again, louder, reaching for her shoulder and turning her around so he could see her. 

It was in that moment he saw her for what she truly was-- human. He had always seen her as this surreal and subhuman pre-war, kickass fighting machine that didn't take shit from anyone and sassed everyone. But when he saw the pain in her half-lidded eyes, watched as she struggled to form words as blood dripped from her mouth, painting her lips a crimson red, witnessed a dark red blossoming from her abdomen where she had been shot, the red stain rapidly spreading across her shirt. 

"Toots? Can you hear me?" He held a hand to the side of her face, held her head up as it lolled to the side as she struggled to maintain consciousness. Her teeth were clenched in pain and blood dotted her face. Her blood? His blood? He couldn't tell. He let her head fall to the side as he tore through his pockets like a wild animal as he searched for a stun pack. "Shit. Shit shit shit!" He quickly yanked her satchel open and tore through it, throwing junk aside. 

I'm most cases, he loved watching her scavenge for junk. Picking up an alarm clock there, snatching a desk fan there. He always teased her about it just to get a rise out of her. She loved scavenging for things that could be used for parts to help settlements. But right now, he wished nothing more than to burn all this scavenged junk that was in his way as he searched for the one thing that would let her cling onto life. 

At the bottom of her bag he recognized a familiar syringe. There was only one. There had to be more than one. One wasn't enough. Shit. 

He pulled the stim from her bag and jabbed it into her stomach then throwing the syringe aside. He tossed her satchel onto his back and hauled her up into his arms and started sprinting towards Goodneighbor. He didn't care about the gunners angry yells and the bullets that flew by his head. He had to do something. He couldn't let her die. Not like this. 

As he made a mad dash to Goodneighbor, visions of the bullet tearing into her body polluted his brain. She was no longer conscious, and her breathing was ragged and shallow. "Come on sunshine, hang in there" he whispered, more or less to himself. 

Goodneighbor was probably a little over a mile away. It was too far. But it was his best bet. He just had to get there. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts that when gunshots rang out around him, he barely noticed. He had run straight through a raider camp, not even hearing their shouted, frenzied warnings. 

His rapid footsteps against the concrete as he dashed to his town were the only things that mattered. He had a closet full of stims in his office in the Old State House. He could save her. He wouldn't let her die. He couldn't. Too many people died in this shithole of a world, and he wasn't going to let this woman die. She was everything to him. She gave him a reason to live. She was his companion, his partner, and his best friend. 

His best friend that was now dying in his own arms. And it was his fault. The guilt gnawed away at him like a relentless flesh eating dis ease. If she died, her blood would be on his hands. He would be the only one to blame. He was the one who put her in the line of fire and it was his fault she was shot. 

His throat burned and tears burned at his eyes. His leg muscles were on fire, but he refused to stop running. He had to get her there. He could fix this. 

Finally, the flashy neon sign came into view. 'Goodneighbor' it said, in blinky, tacky lights. "We're home, Sunshine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, feel free to leave comments. Honestly, your comments are what keep me going :)
> 
> And also as usual, enjoy!

Hancock burst through the door to Goodneighbor, drawing the confused attention of the drifters nearby. He charged up to the statehouse and slammed the door open, which hit the wall with a slam. He tore up the stairs two at a time, looking down at her pale face in his arms. He couldn't hear her breathing anymore. "Fahr!", he shouted as he reached the top of the stairs.

Fahrenheit lazily looked over the back of the sofa, but her eyes snapped open when she saw the vault dweller in his arms, blood covering her midsection. She leaped up off the couch and pushed the coffee table aside, making room. She closed the double doors after Hancock entered, then dashed to the supply closet to get stims. 

Hancock gently set her onto the couch, careful not to jostle her around. Her face was white. The usual rosy tint of her cheeks had fled. He unzipped her vault suit and slid it down her body so he could see the extent of the wound. It was horrendous. The skin was torn clean through. The bullet was still in there, there was no exit wound. Blood continued gushing from the gash with no signs of stopping. 

"Fahr! Hurry!" He shouted, jumping up and scouring the room for more stims. He found two, and quickly ran back to the couch, injecting each of them into her stomach. He watched in suspense and fear as the edges of her skin slowly started to regenerate, the wound slowly peeling closed. He felt her forehead. Sweaty and cold. 

This wasn't right. She shouldn't be cold. They had spent the chilly nights together tucked into a bedroll, and her skin had been warm. Her skin wasn't suppose to be cold. It couldn't be. 

Her face was filthy, covered in dried blood and dirt. Most of her body was covered in blood, and hell if he knew whose it was. Even under her fingernails there was a mixture of dirt and blood.

He promised himself that any minute he would wake up. This had to be some crazy nightmare. He'd wake up and she would make fun of him for getting so worked up over a dream. She would reassure him that he was safe. Just like she was suppose to. 

Fahr rushed back, placing five stims onto the table. "This is all we've got. I'll run down to Daisy's and see if-"

"Go, hurry!" Hancock yelled at her, and he felt hot tears begin to singe his eyes, but he was determined not to cry in front of Fahrenheit. He needed her to see that he was strong, even if he didn't believe it himself. She ducked through the double doors and down the stairs, and Hancock returned his glance to the injured woman in front of him. 

He picked up each of the stims and drove it into her abdomen, one by one. He watched as the wound healed itself, until finally it closed. As it sealed shut, the blood-soaked bullet fell from the wound and clattered onto the floor. He stared at it, feeling hatred towards it. This is what was responsible for her injury, for her pain. The gun that fired that bullet had left her like this. The person that fired the gun probably had no regret. They were probably bragging about having shot the General of the Minutemen. 

Hancock felt for a pulse. He waited for the telltale beating that meant a human was still alive. The beating that would let him know that his best friend wasn't gone. It never came

"Damnit!", he shouted, shoving the coffee table onto its side, sending inhalers of jet and packets of mentats flying, as tears streamed freely down his face. He tried to stifle his sobs, but he couldn't. He sobbed loudly and threw containers of jet across the room. 

He had done everything and it wasn't enough. 

She was gone. 

It was his fault.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had previously anticipated having three short chapters in this one, however, I think I'm going to make four, so I can wrap everything up in the fourth and final chapter. 
> 
> Make sure to leave a comment telling me your thoughts! Thanks! :)

Hancock ripped off a boot and threw it across the room in anger. It hit a picture on the wall, shattering the glass, before tumbling to the wooden floor along with the aged wooden frame. 

He cried loudly, suddenly no longer caring if anyone heard him. He felt no shame in his misery. Nothing mattered now. He tumbled to the ground, gasping for air between sobs. His vision blurred as tears forced their way from his charcoal black eyes. He leaned against the sofa, pulling his knees to his chest. The room spun, blurring in and out of focus. 

Her hand hung over the edge of the couch, and he grabbed it, kissing it carefully, over and over. He wanted to hold her warm hands again, to feel the wave of happiness that washed over him whenever she held his hands. He had to have that feeling again. It couldn't be gone. 

He wanted to hear her laugh. Damnit, he loved her laugh. It was contagious. Whenever she would laugh at something, he would end up laughing too, even if he wasn't amused by the laughing matter. 

He wanted to listen to her voice as she read aloud, something she did frequently when they set up camp while on a mission together. She would lay on her bedroll, and read aloud from books that she had stashed in her pack. Most of them were classical books that Hancock would probably have brushed off as boring. But hearing her read them, in her wonderful voice, it made them worth listening to. 

He wanted to hold her. To feel her presence. She always carried around good vibes that she gave off to everyone she met. Well, most everyone she met. If someone stood up against her, she'd shoot them down without even a second thought. 

She couldn't be gone. She couldn't be gone. She couldn't be gone. 

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and pulled in a raspy deep breath, before sighing loudly. He ran his hands over his ridged face as he wiped away burning tears. His muscles in his left hand twitched, as he struggled to regain composure. They twitched again, and he looked to his hand, irritated that his body would act up at a time like this. 

His mind went blank when he watched her fingers move slightly in his hand. It wasn't his hand acting up, it was hers. 

He spun around and sat on his knees, looking at her face. Sweat beaded down the sides of her face, which was still incredibly pale. But her mouth was parted slightly. He held his ear over her lips, and he could hear her pulling in short ragged breaths. 

A tidal wave of relief washed over him as he watched her chest rise and fall incredibly slowly. How could she be alive? He just checked for a pulse and couldn't find one?

He pushed the thoughts from his head. It didn't matter. She was alive, and that was all that mattered. 

"Sunshine, fuck, Sunshine you're okay. You're going to be okay."

He pushed her brown tousled hair from her face. He yearned to hear her voice. To feel her loving touch. But he understood that it would take time. Right now, she needed to heal. 

He laid his head on the couch beside hers, suddenly exhausted. His muscles were tired from running all the way back to Goodneighbor with her in his arms. And now the exhaustion was kicking in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy(ed) reading this story! Thank you for supporting my work!

Hancock awoke suddenly, sensing someone else in the room, and he lunged for his knife, yanking it from inside his coat. Fahrenheit caught his wrist, the knife just inches from her chest. "Easy there, Killer."

If Hancock could've blushed, he would've. He let his hand return the knife to his coat. "Sorry Fahr, feeling a little jumpy. Must've had a little too much jet."

Suddenly the events prior to his sleep bombarded his mind, and he jumped up and looked to the other. couch. He had been asleep on the couch across the table from the other one. Over the table, he could see his little vault dweller. Her skin was regaining its natural colour, and she had a glow to her. A glow that meant she was alive. 

A dull throbbing at the base of his skull tore him from his thoughts. "Fuck, how long have I been out?" He asked, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

"Almost two days", Fahr responded. "Must've worn yourself out dragging your sorry ass and hers all the way back here. What the hell happened anyway?"

Hancock explained everything that had happened while Fahr listened in silence. The Gunners, the shot that caused the fatal injury, the run all the way back. Fahr just nodded, letting him know she understood. 

"I came back from Daisy's with an armful of stims and found you passed out. Moved you to the couch, and administered the stims to the girl. She must've taken a real beating. She's lucky she lived."

She's lucky she lived. The words repeated back to him in his head. Was it luck that saved her? Or was it something more? Did it matter? She was alive and, to him, that was all that truly mattered. He walked around the table, dropping to his knees beside the other couch, running a hand over her arm, her pale skin prickling under his rough touch. "Hey Sunshine" he whispered, smiling. She stirred in her sleep, and he hoped she had heard him. 

"It'll take her a while to heal up from a shot like that" Fahr noted, sitting on the couch and crossing her legs, leaning her arms across the back of the couch. 

Hancock didn't care. He'd wait as long as it took. Forever, if necessary. He briefly imagined what it would be like when she woke up. She'd probably freak out when she remembered her missions with the Brotherhood and the Minutemen. He smiled to himself. She was always worrying herself with helping others. He had watched her spend hours labouring over construction of houses for settlers, and had tagged along as she went on countless killing sprees throughout the Commonwealth, slaying feral ghouls, super mutants, Raiders, and anyone else who dared to bother one of her settlements. 

He loved the way her face looked when she shot down a feral or a Gunner. It probably felt exhilarating, to eliminate someone who had caused her settlers so much pain and suffering. 

He also took into account the fact that she'd probably drag him all across the Commonwealth so she could notify all her friends and companions of what had happened. He imagined the look on Preston's face when she would tell him how she, the General of the Minutemen, almost lost her life. He chuckled to himself at the thought. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, noting the warmth that emanated from her skin. The warmth was a signal of life. Sweat no longer coated her face and slicked back her hair, and Fahr must've cleaned the blood from her body. Splatters of blood no longer coated every inch of her. There was no longer dirt under her fingernails, and her bloodied vault suit had been removed. She was now wearing a flannel shirt and some worn out trousers. 

He ran a hand through her hair, longing to see those pretty eyes of hers. Soon, he told himself. Soon he could look at her pretty eyes all he wanted, and she would probably jokingly call him a creep and tell him to take a picture because it'll last longer. 

That was his Sunshine.


End file.
